Anne

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
She didn’t remember life that well
Or chose not to focus on it
But several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
“I was one of ten children”, she explained,
“We all looked after each other”
And several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
“That must have been hard”
“Oh no” she said, “you just get on with it don’t you?”
Still, several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
Her name was Anne, she told me once
And briefly spoke of children
But several times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
She was a positive, cheerful type
Bus pass in hand she enjoyed her travels
But it couldn’t stop her thinking,
“My mum died when I was two”

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
She said childhood was her happiest time but
“It’s harder now, I just…… you know”
And it was clear that she was grieving
From her mum dying when she was two

I met an old lady on the bus
Whose mum died when she was two
I felt identification with her pain
Enduring abandonment
And several more times she said, again,
“My mum died when I was two”

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